Anadyomene Or The Birth Of Venus - Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka
Balancing upright, leaning forward in a shy
but invitingly seductive stanza, her left foot
delicately rests over the rim of the shell.
She steers her vessel. The slender beauty's back,
her ass blown by sizzling hot Zephyr winds.
I remember! I was the male model when
Sandro and I were young and brash and
enamored with things from the sea. Ah! Youth!
And judging by the wavelets,
toward the shore in elegant insouciant steadiness,
her left hand veiling her barnacle-encrusted pudenda.
Yes, her snapper.
I imagine Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de' Medici
overwhelmed by the shell instead of the figure
because he was a collector of the earlier, especially
after pigging out on a plateful of scallops
dipped in butter, salt and garlic with a generous
squeeze of lemon.
When Boticelli painted her, I stood behind him
whispering much unwanted recommendations.
But the painter was never disturbed by my kibitzing.
We remained friends long after, in spite of the later
suggestion by Vasari that his version was some other
I know better. I remember the artist,
head over heel for Simonetta Cattaneo Vespucci,
a chick who lived in a town by the sea not far from
where Sandro lived.
The painting, nothing like Rimbaud's certain poem
about a decrepit Venus.
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